


The Time We Are Upon

by indevan



Category: Marvel (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 11:46:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1093536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indevan/pseuds/indevan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the fairytale journey of the princess, the pig-boy and the hummingbird</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Time We Are Upon

**Author's Note:**

> this is a story I wrote three years ago and just decided to upload onto here.

It was customary for fairytales to begin with the vague, whimsical phrase of “once upon a time.” The exact time is not remarked upon or even where the story was taking place outside of “a time.” This story would be no different. Once upon a time and all that.

The brother and sister looked not like the family that raised them. She was a rose. Her hips were petals, swelling out from her waist. Her lips were velvety and red. Her hair full of black-red beauty. Magic flickered from her fingertips from an unknown source. She had always been magic. The brother, younger by only a little, grew to associate roses and magic—magic and his sister. He was leaner and paler with hair like snow and the pointed face of an elf. Unlike his sister who moved in long, sinuous motions as if she were always dancing, balancing on the balls of her feet and leaping from place to place, he as always in motion. His hands flew like manic doves around his face in flickering motions. His legs were never still. Always moving.

The sister grew annoyed with her brother’s constant motion as all siblings did. They weren’t perfect and neither ever tried to be. They were barely more than children. It was then that she turned him into a hummingbird. It was a simple transformation spell. To make him more like he was. Always in motion. Lean and slight. A blur of movement. The sister did not count on being kidnapped before she could turn him back.

She had been laughing at him fluttering around her, screeching in his high, hummingbird voice. Her mouth was stretched wide and tears rolled down her face.

“Change me back, Wanda!” he screeched. “Change me back!”

Wanda righted herself and wiped tears from her eyes and swiped her hands over the damp marks on her cheeks in a half-hearted attempt to dry them. She took deep breaths and held her hands out to give him back his proper form. The form of a boy who wanted so desperately to be a man. It was then that she was taken.

The men had meant to take them both, he’d later discover, but saw only Wanda and not her hummingbird brother. They were shiny, he thought. Shiny and glittering even more with the sun on their armor. Was it armor? Their faces were metal, too, formed into grimaces and scowls. Stuck in his weak, fluttering body, he could only watch as the metal men dragged his surprised sister away.

They had come from nowhere, he thought. They had been standing in the woods and then they swooped in as if like shadows. But, he thought, when they moved, they clanked. How could they not have heard their approach?

The boy—now a hummingbird—could not face his family. They would not recognize him and, worse, they would blame him for losing his sister. For letting her be kidnapped because they let their guards down. There were people, papa said, awful people who did not like them or “their kind.” The hummingbird wasn’t sure what “their kind” was but he knew hatred when he saw it. He saw hatred etched on the faces of the metal men.

He flew jerkily for days, for once wishing he could stop his constant motion if only for a second. On the fifth day, he saw a beautiful garden surrounding a tall, imposing castle. The castle was made of black stone but, even to him, it seemed welcoming. Private, but welcoming. The garden was lush and vibrant. The sweet smell of nectar hung in the air. Over his journey, the hummingbird had grown a taste for nectar as it was all he could eat now. He fluttered down, twitching his wings in anticipation. He ate his fill, dipping his long beak into the soft petals of a fellow flower. The nectar was sweet, he thought, and he wondered if he could eventually get it again once he found Wanda and became himself. He tried to cling to that hope but the metal men were gone and he was but a hummingbird.

In the castle garden, he fluttered between bees and flies who allowed him use of the flowers, tipping their hats to him as if afraid the small hummingbird would eat them. If he even could. He was nearing the broad, black wall of the castle and that was when he heard it. Crying. The hummingbird fluttered higher and the sound increased in volume. A girl was crying. He fluttered to the open window and hovered there, beating his wings in rapid succession. He saw a girl draped over her bed, crying.

“What is the matter?” he asked.

Her head jerked up and he saw her red, tear-streaked face. He thought she was beautiful. Her nose was slightly upturned and orange hair was in her face, stuck to it by tears. She was dressed in a fine, yellow gown fit for a princess. That must have been what she was, he thought. A princess.

“Who is there?” she asked, green eyes wide. The tears had dried up in her surprise and, perhaps, suspicion.

“Oh, sorry. I forget people can’t see me as easily now.” He fluttered a little in the window.

The princess went to him and tilted her head to the side.

“You are a hummingbird,” she said.

“No!” he said belligerently before reconsidering. “Well, yes. Now I am a hummingbird but I was not always a hummingbird.”

“Then what were you?”

“A man,” he replied. “My sister, you see, she’s a witch. She turned me into a hummingbird for a joke but…she was taken.”

“Taken?”

“By metal men.” His feathers ruffled and bristled in anger. “I have been trying to find her but…well, I am a hummingbird. I cannot get very far.”

The princess scrutinized him with her beautiful eyes. The flush of tears had left her face and he thought, again, how beautiful she was. Her skin was like pearls melted over her bones and her face was delicately and beautifully sculpted. Her eyes were tilted and almost catlike.

“Why were you crying?”

Those eyes looked down and her teeth came out to bite down on her lower lip.

“I am to be married,” she said quietly.

“Do you not love him?”

Her head jerked up. “I do not even know him! He is from the Kingdom of Hala!”

The hummingbird knew of Hala. It was so far away as to nearly be another world. Cold and unfeeling. Driven by war.

“How…disgusting,” he sympathized. “But why Hala?”

The princess sighed.

“My family was once from Hala. Generations upon generations ago. They split and formed our castle here—Attilan. But King Ronan wants me to be his bride to gain our land once more. But I do not know him! And, if he is ruling Hala…then he cannot be a very nice man.”

Tears began rolling down her face again and the hummingbird flew down gently and caught one on his beak. The princess looked at the droplet, which quivered as he fluttered. A small smile formed on her face.

For a month, the princess and the hummingbird would meet every day. She would leave a basin of water out for him to bathe in and he would rub honey nectar on her fingers so she could get a taste. The water she put in the basin was by her own hand, gathered from the moisture in the air. He was spellbound by how she wove the elements like someone would cloth or how his sister had woven magic. Her name, he learned, was not princess. It was Crystal. He thought the name was perfect. Beautiful and fragile-looking but strong and hard. In turn, she—as well as you—learned his name was not boy or brother or even hummingbird. It was Pietro. They were in love.

Her cousins, who also lived in the castle, naturally noticed this. They feared if they did not hand over their youngest relative to Hala, they would be besieged by their forces. Thus, when the captain of the guard saw her conversing with the hummingbird and heard them profess their love to one another, he grew angry. He ran to another cousin, opting not to tell the king or queen who would undoubtedly call off the engagement as the queen was her older sister and, if the option came, would want the princess to only be happy. Maybe even if it was found out that the person with whom she was in love was a bird. Thus, her cousins knew they would have to be covert.

In truth, they believed the princess batty. That she was in love with a bird and not in love with the boy the bird really was. They in fact simply thought of him as a bird. Thus, when Crystal put the basin out for Pietro to bathe in, her cousins filled it with razorblades. He came in from the flowers, sticky with nectar, and dropped into the bath. The princess heard his screech from her closet and rushed to his aid.

She knew of her cousins’ distaste for her friendship with the Pietro and how they didn’t realize that he wasn’t simply a bird but a human. She also knew that, even if he was merely a bird that it gave them no right to injure him in such a way. Crystal cleaned his wounds and was relieved to see that they were superficial at best but still quite numerous.

“Your cousins are awful people,” Pietro said, flickering outside her window. If bird’s faces could screw up in pain and disgust, she was certain his would.

Crystal nodded slowly and lightly wrung her hands. She was living on borrowed time. Her cousins could possibly kill him and, worse, her wedding was approaching.

“We should leave,” she said suddenly, eyes widening.

“What?”

“Why should I have to stay here if I do not want to? And we could find your sister. We can turn you back and we can be wed.” Her voice was getting breathy and she spoke more and more quickly, her hands fluttering around her face as his had when he was human.

Pietro would have liked to point that, even if he was returned to his natural form, he was a peasant. Their marriage would never be allowed. But he was in love and he did want to find his sister and so he agreed. Crystal stripped herself of her gown and other finery, wanting to slip out of her window easily. In only her slip, she carefully scaled down a vine and only let go when she felt the bottoms of her feet on the soft earth. He fluttered somewhere behind her, night air cooling on his wings.

Delicately, the princess held out a hand and stuck a finger out to allow him to hop on it.

“I have to keep moving,” he said even though he longed to touch her. Longed for his hands back to stroke her hair. To cup her face. Longed for his face back so he could kiss her gently and softly as the breeze that petered through the garden.

So, as quiet as that same breeze, the hummingbird and the princess fled the black castle and took to the woods.

It is important at this point to take a break and introduce the third member of this ragtag group of misfits. Barton the pig boy. Now, contrary to what his name would denote, he was not cursed by an evil fairy upon birth to have a snout and ears or any such magic. No, Barton was a pig boy because he worked on a hog farm. He wasn’t sure if Barton was his last name or his first name or even his name at all. It was just what the owners called him.

“Barton, go feed the pigs!”

“Barton, go wash the pigs!”

“Barton, you don’t get to sit at the table!”

Because he slept in the pen with the pigs and tended to their every pig whim, Barton felt like a pig boy. He smelt like pig and was always covered with mud and other such grossness that he was certain that maybe he was just a pig born wrong in the body of a boy. That is, he felt that way until they came. They were Sir Roger and Sir Anthony, knights of the realm. They served King Richards and had come to stay for the night at the hog farm on their way back to Baxter Castle. Barton watched them from the pig pen, blue eyes wide. They glittered gold and silver like sun gods, he thought. Their armor shone even in the lantern light posted at the house. He was told to tend to their beautiful, glossy horses while they ate dinner with the owners. When they left that morning, Barton handed the reins to Sir Roger with his mud-caked hands. He tried to smile heroically and brazenly at him in a show that, yes, he could be a knight. The effect was diminished by the dirt and grime smearing his face. Nevertheless, Sir Roger took the reins and flashed him a smile of his own. One sapphire eye closed in a wink before he led the horses over to his companion.

Barton watched them leave until their forms were mere pinpricks against the rising sun. He knew, right then, that he wanted to be a knight. He wanted to be a hero.

“Barton! Feed the pigs!” The owner’s loud, angry cry startled him from his reverie and he dragged himself to the pens.

That night, while they slept, Barton left. Years before he had even seen the knights, when he was small and really no more than a piglet-boy, Barton began practicing with a quiver and arrow. They were stolen from the owner who no longer favored them and he kept them secreted under an overturned trough. He took them, now, and smiled to himself. He stopped at their pump to wash his face and hands and to wash the smell of pig from him. For the first time since he could remember, his face was bare and clean, devoid of filth. He ran a wet hand through his hair to try and rouse caked on dirt from the blonde strands but stirring in the house made him stop. Panicking, Barton ran. Ran into the woods. His bare feet trod over broken branches and twigs and rocks but still he ran. He ran long until the night until he collapsed by a tree from exhaustion.

Barton slept for a day and a night and awoke to the sun cresting over the forest. He was filthy all over once more and he felt…decidedly pig-like. He rubbed his sore muscles and cracked his back. Not far, he could hear the faint tinkling of water falling down rocks.

“A brook!” The words left his mouth in an excited whoosh.

He stumbled through the woods on oxygen-starved legs until the tinkling grew in volume and he soon found a spring. The area seemed almost enchanted, he thought. Honeyed light filtered through the trees and lush plants that seemed so out of place in the thick, gray woods grew along the banks.

“Don’t look!”

The voice that called was mingled with a laugh as if they wanted whoever they were chastised to look indeed. Barton glanced around quickly, wondering who else was in this mystical place. It was then that he saw her. She was a nymph, he thought. She had to be. A mystical water creature sent to titillate his senses. She was in the spring, using her hand to make the water rise and cascade down her naked body. Her hands didn’t scoop the water up but instead guide it as if by magic. Her cheeks were tinged with pink as if by laughter or embarrassment and her soft hair was the color of the setting sun. It was wet and slicked back, away from her face.

“You’re looking!” she called to…no one.

Barton saw no one. Perhaps she was speaking to a water spirit. Some other otherworldly goddess. She flicked water out into the air, nearly hitting a hummingbird who fluttered near her.

“I cannot help it, my love.”

His spine fused once more. A second voice had answered her. Neither she nor the phantom voice had noticed him and he realized he was staring. Barton pulled off his rags and placed his bow down gently on the bank before he started to swim to the far end of the spring, trying not to make a noise. He felt the dirt begin to release itself from his body and hair and relaxation settled over his muscles. Barton closed his eyes and swam in slow strokes—forgetting the nymph and her phantom friend and even, briefly, his desire to be a knight and his spontaneous decision to run.

He was startled back into reality by a loud scream. Startled, Barton righted himself in the water, eyes wide. The nymph was standing over him, eyes wide, emerald discs. She held a meager shift dress over her exposed body. The hummingbird from before buzzed angrily around her.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

“I-I’m Barton.” He held his hands up in a show of goodwill. “I was just takin’ a bath. I didn’t mean to startle ya or nothin’.”

He heard a derisive snort but not from the startled nymph girl. It had to be the phantom.

“Who was that?”

The hummingbird fluttered out and a surprised, “Oh!” left his lips. The bird looked angry, he presumed. As it was a bird, he couldn’t tell for certain but it looked quite put out. It was small and silvery blue in color with a white underbelly. Barton had not seen many hummingbirds but he could tell this one was…different.

“Me,” the hummingbird replied.

“A talking bird?”

“You say that as if it is a strange thing.”

Barton tried to remember any of the pigs speaking to him but could not. Then again, these woods were a different place from the hog farm. He knew the stories. Witches, spells, curses—although he apparently missed the part of the legends that involved beautiful, orange-haired nymph girls and their angry hummingbird friends.

“That is my love.” In his supposed stand-off with the hummingbird, Barton had missed the girl’s return to shore and her pulling the shift over her head.

“…A talking bird?” he repeated.

“He was not always a bird,” she said back, agitated. “We are looking for his sister.”

“His sister?”

“Yes!” The hummingbird flickered angrily. “Must everything that leaves your slack-jawed mouth be a question? My sister turned me into a bird as a joke but my sister was kidnapped and so we are trying to save my sister.”

Barton’s eyes went alight. “Kidnapped?”

In unison, the bird and girl cried, “Yes!”

“Well, you’re in luck!” he replied brightly. Gesturing to himself with a jerked thumb, Barton puffed out his chest. “I’m gonna be a knight. I can help ya rescue your sister!”

“You?” The bird’s tone was nothing short of derisive. “What can you do if you just ‘want to be a knight?’”

Barton gestured to shore where his bow and arrows still were. “I’m an archer. I can…do things. Who took your sister?”

“Metal men.”

He crinkled his brow, confused. He did not know of the metal men but he could think of somewhere that would.

“We could go to Baxter Castle! Their king is the most knowledgeable in the land. He would know where the metal men are from.”

The hummingbird stared at the girl for a while as if speaking a language only they knew. Finally, the girl agreed and Barton splashed back over to his side of the shore, excited with the prospect of adventure. He pulled his rags back on and slung his bow and quiver over his back.

He went to where she stood and held his hand out to her, smiling in a way he hoped was charming.

“Shall we be off, fair maiden?” he asked in his nicest, most sincere-sounding tone. He felt something sharp on his ear that made him straighten. “Ow!”

“You get one warning, buffoon,” the hummingbird said, fluttering by. “I am letting you know now.”

For days, the trio walked through the woods, planting seeds of what was to come. Barton tried to sway the princess with charming smiles and innuendos but his attempts were always answered in the princess’s own way. That is, Crystal would enchant the wind to blow the branch of a tree into his face. Over time, though, the hummingbird and the princess began softening to Barton. Began realizing that he was like them—wanting to be free. Free from being a pig boy, as he told them. Just as Crystal wanted to be free from her marriage and Pietro wanted to be free of his feathery prison.

So, it came to pass that the three of them grew closer though, outside the princess and her love, the hummingbird, it could not be said that they were friends. Barton was still merely tolerated but moreso than he was before, which was the most acceptance he had ever gotten in his short life.

“How do we seek audience with the king and queen?” Pietro asked, fluttering somewhere over Crystal’s shoulder, beating his wings in rapid succession.

“My family knows them,” she piped up with a smile. “I can get us audience.”

Barton’s eyes went wide as he often forgot that she was a princess. “Really?”

She nodded and picked at a snarl that had developed in her hair.

“Yes. King Richard is a longtime friend of my cousin, the king. I am sure we can at least get our question answered.”

“Do you think there is a wizard there?” Pietro asked. “Someone who can turn me back?”

She frowned as if trying to remember when last she visited. “I cannot recall.”

There was a disappointed tone in her voice as she spoke. Like Pietro, she longed to be able to touch him as lovers did. The most she could do now is gently cup him in her hands as his wings beat a frenzied beat.

“Cheer up, bird boy!” Barton enthused. “I’m sure there’ll be someone to help you—and even if there isn’t, we’re gonna find your sister anyway!”

It seemed, almost, that Pietro’s flickering stopped for a moment.

“…Thank you, Barton,” he said in a warm tone.

Barton smiled broadly. “Think nothin’ of it, Pietro.”

If the hummingbird had still had a moveable mouth as opposed to his long, narrow beak, he would have been smiling despite himself.

Soon, after days upon days of travel, they came upon Baxter Castle. It loomed high into the sky—white and blue. It was a work of beauty, they all thought. It was far larger than Crystal’s black palace as well as grander. Turrets shot straight into the sky and towers ended with sloping blue roofs. The white stone with which the castle was made glittered in the sun like a beautiful mirage. The three of them were astounded by its grandeur. Barton could remember no home other than his pig farm and Pietro’s life had constantly been on the move. Even Crystal, who had been to the castle before, was gobsmacked at the sight of it. Baxter Castle was not something you would forget and yet it would catch the eye and entrance the mind no matter how many times it was seen.

The palace gates were open, Barton noticed. He knew that the king and queen welcomed all but he had not realized it had been literal.

“They just allow anyone into the palace?” Pietro asked.

“Into the palace, yes—into the throne room, no.”

As they stepped into the gleaming halls of Baxter Castle, each were aware of their appearances. Pietro’s feathers were tufted and matted, his body still marred by thin scars from his razorblade bath. Crystal’s hair was dominated by burrs and tangles and her shift dress was tattered and torn. Barton’s clothes still smelled of pig and his bare feet were caked with dirt and grime. They stood out in the hall, getting dirt on the white, blue-veined marble.

“We look like peasants,” Barton remarked.

“I am a peasant,” Pietro replied indignantly.

He could not argue with that logic and, instead, the three of them made their way out of the gleaming hall and into the small village kept safely within the castle walls. Here, it was not so grand but not particularly miserable either. The houses had thatched roofs and were made from white stone. They looked sturdy and cozy. Shops were brimming with life and business. The entire packed dirt expanse of space was full of people out enjoying the day.

“Well, we fit in a bit better here,” Barton said, brightening once more.

Together, they walked through the busy town, dodging carts and renegade children who ran about chasing one another and shrieking happily.

“Oh, there is John!” Crystal said suddenly, pointing through a throng of people.

A blond boy-god stood outside a shop that sold woven blankets. He was visibly different from the other townspeople in his clean, blue tunic and white hose. His feet were shod in clean, shining shoes and he seemed to glow with that unmistakable glow royalty seemed to exude.

“John!” She rushed towards him, lifting her arm in a wave.

He stared at her for a moment, blue eyes wide as if he were caught doing something he should not have but softened when she and her companions approached.

“Crystal!” he greeted her warmly with a small peck on the back of her hand. “What happened to you?”

She lowered her head to the ground slightly at her bare, dirtied feet and bit her lip.

“A long story,” Barton said, coming to her rescue. “I’m Barton.”

“Prince John. You are a friend of the princess’s?” He surveyed Barton’s face with keen eyes.

“Yes. We’re lookin’ to talk to the king and queen—Pietro’s sister was kidnapped by metal men and we need to find them so we can rescue her because we’re heroes.”

“Pietro?” He raised a flaxen brow.

“Him.” Barton pointed to the fluttering hummingbird.

“He is a bird.”

“He wasn’t always!” Crystal and Barton shouted in unison, startling the prince.

John shook his head rapidly and forced a charming smile back on his flawless face. “My…mistake. You said you wanted to see my sister? I can take you to them…after you two have cleaned up, I mean.”

Barton tried not to take offense to that as he knew that they were sticky and filthy and smiled broadly.

“That would be great, Johnny.”

“John.”

“Sure.”

He led them from the shop, casting a surreptitious glance over his shoulder as if wishing he could stay. Nevertheless, Prince John led them into the main castle and out to be cleaned and clothed. Barton was given a tunic of violet and darker hose. They were the nicest clothes he had ever worn and he felt out of place in them. Like one of the pigs he used to watch put into finery. He was not meant for these clothes, he thought. Crystal was given a gown that she had left there once by accident. It was yellow, like most of her other gowns, and her hair felt soft and clean to the touch. She could not remember when last she felt this fine. Even Pietro was delicately washed in a basin containing no sharp objects, which was a decided step above his last bath.

“When can we speak to the king and queen?” Barton asked, impatiently. He was itching to continue their adventure and felt so out of place in his fancy clothes that he was nearly jumping from foot to foot.

“Tomorrow,” Prince John told him. “My sister and her husband were out in Atlantis doing business with King Namor. They are a night’s travel from here.”

“I bet she was,” Crystal said quietly and under her breath. Only Barton and Pietro were close enough to her to catch her words.

“Get some sleep,” he advised, letting his blue-eyed gaze linger over each of them. “You all look as though you need it”

Sent to guest rooms, the tired heroes went reluctantly into their beds. Their fine clothes now rested in wardrobes, ready to be worn tomorrow. Pietro fluttered somewhere near the top of the wardrobe in Crystal’s room, wishing upon wishing that he were to be himself again so as to be able to climb into the sumptuously comfortable bed with the woman he loved.

Barton slept deeply and dreamlessly, his body relaxing into the unaccustomed comfort of a bed. Even so, he was awakened by a sound outside his door. He grabbed his bow and a single arrow and carefully opened it, wondering who was moving around the castle so late at night. As he poked his head out, he saw Crystal, too, looking outside her room.

“What was that?” Barton asked.

“I do not know—it is why we are looking.” Pietro, of course.

A shadow moved at the end of the hall.

“Adventure,” Barton whispered excitedly and more loudly to his companions, “come on!”

In a group, they followed the shadow out of the castle and into the main village. Under the pearly glow of the moonlight, the shadow was revealed to be Prince John.

“He’s beautiful,” Barton observed, tilting his head to the side. “Did you notice that?”

“Yes, yes, he is magical,” Pietro said dryly. “What is he doing out here?”

“Does he want a blanket?” Crystal asked.

She pointed towards where he was heading—the shop that sold weavings. Now, this is the time to tell another short story. That is, a brief interlude. The story of the prince and his spider.

Spider was what they called the boy because of his narrow, dexterous fingers that could weave on a loom faster than anyone else. His true name was Peter and he was an orphan, raised by his aunt and uncle in the village. The prince first saw him when he commissioned a blanket for his sister’s birthday. He saw the boy with the large brown eyes that held the entire world in them. The boy, in turn, saw more than the arrogant prince. He saw the sweet, loyal boy with hair like sunshine and eyes like the ocean.

Prince John met his spider on the side of the shop that night, highlighted by the moon. He ran the back of his hand down his smooth, pale cheek and Peter brought his own up to hold the hand, nuzzling into it. Their kiss was soft and tender. The three of them watched, breath held. In their minds, they all wanted their own kisses. Crystal dreamed of being held in Pietro’s arms as he pressed kisses to her face. Pietro, in turn, wished for a human face in which to fulfill her dream. Barton said nothing but, in his mind, he was kissing the both of them.

Without a word, they returned to their rooms, not speaking of the beauty they saw in the shared love between Prince John and Peter the loom boy.

The next morning, they dressed in their finery and prepared to have audience with the king and queen.

“What did you mean yesterday when you were talkin’ about ‘business’ the queen would have in Atlantis?” Barton asked Crystal as they neared the throne room.

“Oh, it was a running joke in my family about the…closeness between Queen Susan and King Namor. I meant nothing by it.”

“Oh.”

They entered the throne room, which was somehow even grander than the rest of the castle. At the far end of the marble hall sat the king and queen on blue velvet thrones. Crystal curtsied and Barton bowed jerkily, not used to the motion. The queen squinted at them and waved a hand.

“A bird followed you in,” she remarked, raising her hands to clap for assistance.

“He is not a bird,” Barton said more sharply than he meant. “I mean…your majesty. This is our friend. He’s been turned into a bird.”

“That is why we are here, Susan—your majesty,” Crystal chimed in.

King Richard leaned forward and cupped his chin in one hand. “Continue, Crystal.”

“Pietro was turned into a bird by his sister. His sister has been kidnapped by metal men—do you know of them?”

“His sister turned him into a bird? Why?”

“It was a joke,” Pietro chimed in, flapping furiously above Barton’s head. “But before she could turn me back, she was taken. I need to find her. Not only do I wish to be human again but she is my sister. I want her back safely.”

King Richard settled back into his throne, his cupping hand moving to instead tap his chin.

“We need no assistance,” Barton added. “No knights or anythin’. We just need to know where to find them.”

Crystal nodded. “Yes.”

The queen spoke next, raising a hand gently to her blonde hair. “The metal men are powered by gears and machinery. They are owned by a madman calling himself Ultron.”

“Susan…”

Her hand went out to him, silencing the king in a way that struck awe in the three.

“Ultron is powered by gears himself—a tinker in our village made him in order to help out in the castle but he rebelled and took to the mountains. He has built his own metal men—and women—to further build an army. I do not know why he has taken your sister but if she did indeed turn you into a bird, he must desire her magic.”

“Well…” Barton said to his fancily shod feet.

“The mountains?” Pietro flapped closer to the queen. “Where?”

She hesitated for a moment before answering. “To the west. I do not advise taking on Ultron. Allow our help. We have knights and warriors to help you.”

“No.” Pietro’s voice was firm enough to get the queen and king to straighten their backs and listen to a bird. “It may be foolish and it may be Barton’s idiocy rubbing off on me—”

“Hey!”

“—But we are going to save my sister ourselves.”

Crystal nodded. “Yes. We have come this far, your majesties, and we thank you for your help. But this is something we must do on our own.”

“We have no interest in fighting Ultron,” Pietro added. “We just want my sister.”

Knowing that there was nothing she could do to dissuade them, the queen sent them on their way. She clutched at her chest, shaking her head and somehow knowing that this would be the last she would see the heroes. Naturally, those listening to this tale know better than Queen Susan but her dour prediction was understandable.

“Maybe we should have rethought,” Barton said, fingering his arrows at his back.

“I think it was very brave,” Crystal said back.

He smiled a little at her thinking of him—well, all of them, really—as brave and a small blush crept to his cheeks.

“Foolish,” Pietro added.

“Brave,” Crystal corrected sweetly.

Barton watched his form flutter between the two of them and cocked his head to the side.

“Hey, Pietro…what do you look like? I mean, the real you?”

He slowed his frantic fluttering and turned to face him.

“I…I almost cannot remember,” he admitted. “I remember being skinny and tall—not as tall as you but tall in its own right. I had a pointed face like an elf, I think. But I cannot remember details anymore.”

Barton pictured a boy with piercing blue eyes and soft hair the color of the feathers on his underbelly lightly caressing his face. He pictured the princess smiling at him and each putting their arms around him. He wondered if either of them had him in their dreams as well.

“I bet you were beautiful,” he said, not in the least embarrassed to say so. “Like Prince John. A sort of otherworldly thing—like when I thought princess here was a nymph.”

If he could have, Pietro would have nearly blushed. Sometimes, in his dreams of being a human, Barton was there as well. He was sharpening arrows in the corner near a hearth and watching the both of them with that smile on his face. A smile he only smiled around them, even.

“I bet he is, too,” Crystal chimed in. “But even if you were actually an ogre, I would still love you.”

He buzzed with excitement and flickered to her shoulder where he hovered.

“Me too,” Barton said with a smile.

His response earned him a strange look from the princess and he widened the smile.

“I love you, too, princess!”

Crystal crinkled her brow and tipped her head to the side. “Barton, I never know when you are being serious.”

He did not want to say that he was indeed serious as, deep down, Barton had begun to feel truly at home with these two—more at home than he had ever felt. If he admitted to them that he loved them, it could ruin it.

The trio continued on, moving through the woods far more easily now in shoes than they had in bare feet. At night, they camped at the foot of the mountain. The princess made a fire, manipulating it into beautiful, sinuous shapes of animals for entertainment. Barton watched her, the flames flickering in her eyes. Pietro was a blur of motion between them. Above them there was a vague outline of a castle. A citadel, really, and soon they would be there. Looking at its imposing silhouette against the night sky, Barton almost wished that they had taken up the king and queen’s offer of an army. Fear gnawed in his belly but not fear of what he was to face or if he would lose his own life. He feared losing his companions.

In the morning, they began their ascent. By luck, there was a narrow path winding its way up the mountain, straight to the citadel. Naturally, it was not luck at all but a road that had been carved out rudimentary by Ultron himself in order for his metal men to be able to reach the citadel with nary a worry.

“Maybe we should have brought an army.” Barton cursed himself for voicing his fear.

“Then they would know we are coming,” Crystal pointed out.

“Because a known princess, a pig boy and a talking bird are not noticeable,” Pietro said with what one would guess was a laugh.

“Archer!” Barton corrected indignantly. “If I correct people that you are a human, you can say that I am an archer not a pig boy!”

“You cannot be an archer if you do not actually use your bow,” the hummingbird countered. “I have not seen you use it once this entire time, Barton.”

Annoyed, the pig boy—archer—swatted the air where Pietro had just been.

“We are getting closer,” Crystal told them, narrowing her eyes a little. “We should probably be more quiet.”

The determined set of her jaw was a new development in this long, arduous journey. She was no longer the princess who sobbed on her bed at the prospect of marrying a man she did not know or love. The woods had tempered her into a stronger person.

Obeying her words, the three of them fell silent and the only sound as they rose higher into the mountains was the constant flutter of Pietro’s wings and their feet on the stone ground. The air grew colder as they ascended the mountain and, soon, Barton and Crystal couldn’t feel the tips of their noses or the ends of their fingers. Outside the citadel, they could see metal men going to and from a gaping maw of an entrance.

“We have to get in there,” Barton said in a whisper.

“Really?” Pietro huffed. “I thought we were simply going to stay out here, freezing to death.”

He ignored him and gently pulled an arrow from his quiver. Next to him, the princess raised her hands, ready to bewitch the elements once again. None of them saw what was behind them until they grabbed Crystal’s hands and drew them tightly behind her back. Her anguished cry alerted the boys who turned to see a man of pure metal glaring at them. His cold hands were tightly clasped around the princess’s wrists, which had been pressed harshly to the small of her back. Her arms bent out at a painful angle and she was now biting her lip to keep from crying out again.

“Hey!” Barton cried. “Leave her alone!”

His words died in the cold, still air. Pietro buzzed angrily and futilely around his head.

“She has powers.” The voice that spoke was as cold and still as the air on the mountain slope. “She will be useful.”

Neither thought to ask the soldier how he knew of her ability but could only watch as he dragged her into the castle. Barton tried to aim an arrow at his broad silver back but it would be no good.

“Why did you do nothing?” Pietro howled.

He fluttered in a frenzy around Barton’s head, filling his ears with the beat-beat of tiny wings.

“I-I…I froze.” Barton hung his head. “My fingers are numb and the metal man was so…frightenin’.”

“But you could have cost the life of the woman I love!”

The anger in his voice was fueled only partly by Barton’s actions or lack thereof. The majority of it came from his inability to do anything to help.

“Well I love her, too, you know!” Barton barked.

The fluttering nearly stopped. “What?”

Despite the cold, his cheeks went flush with embarrassment.

“It’s…hard.”

“What is? That you just professed to loving—”

“I love you, too. I meant what I said before that I loved you both. I do. The two of you. You are the only people who have ever made me feel welcomed. Like a family. And I want a family with the both of you.”

Pietro said nothing—a rare instance indeed. He went back to his own dream of Barton being in his home and thought that perhaps the (former) pig boy was onto something. He loved his princess with all of his heart but he could not entirely deny his feelings for Barton.

“Well then…” He flapped his wings, causing steam to form in the air. “We should rescue her, then, Barton. And my sister as well. Be the knight you always said you wanted to be.”

Barton smiled widely at his words and nodded. “Right.”

It was not hard to enter the citadel as they followed shortly after the metal man entered with the princess. For a citadel, Barton thought, it was not too heavily guarded. He thought that strange but, for once, did not voice this thought as they sought out the dungeons.

Like with entering the citadel, it was not hard to locate the dungeons. It was as if the metal men were distracted or, worse, they knew they were coming. Nevertheless, the pig boy and the hummingbird made it down to the dungeons without startling any of the men that marched the cold, stone grounds. Unlike Baxter Castle, the citadel was cold and unfeeling. Everything was sharp and painful-looking. Cold and metal. The dungeons were dank and dreary. Thick stones made up the majority of the cells with heavy metal bars coming down from them.

“Wanda!” Pietro cried suddenly, hovering in front of a cell.

Barton skidded to a stop and took in the form of the witch in the cell. Wanda’s hands were bound behind her back and her hair was lank and in her face. Even so, a determined stare emanated from her green eyes as if she had not given up.

“Wanda!” he repeated.

She gazed up at them, her brow knit in confusion at the blond boy who stood outside her cell. Wanda had merely seen the metal men marching back and forth for months and the sight of a flesh and blood person was strange.

“Who are you?”

“Barton,” Pietro supplied. “The p—archer.”

Barton bowed to her jerkily. “I’m helpin’ your brother rescue you—and the princess.”

“Princess?”

“A lot has happened,” Pietro said with a sigh. “There is no time to go on about it now. We need to get you out of here.”

“And turn him back,” Barton piped up.

Pietro flickered for a moment, almost forgetting his predicament upon seeing his sister.

“He’s still a bird,” Barton said. “And while I’m sure there’s some lesson to be learned here about being yourself, a human is far more useful in this situation than a bird.”

Barton was, of course, right but young Pietro had learned that lesson long ago when he first saw the princess crying into her bed linens and later when he saw the naked boy standing bravely in the spring, not at all embarrassed.

“I cannot use my magic,” Wanda said. “I need my hands and they are tied behind my back.”

“Perhaps I can help.”

While the two heroes were surprised by the sudden voice, at once unfeeling and emotional, Wanda merely smiled. Yes, with the undying theme of love throughout this tale, it was time for another interlude. The love affair of Wanda and her guard—Ultron’s son.

Unlike his father, he despised everything he stood for. Ultron had built him to be the perfect son and perfect soldier but Vision—the self-righteous name given to him—had been built with a heart. Not a human heart but perhaps something went wrong in his construction that gifted him human emotion or, better still, something had given him that emotion. Given him a conscience.

He was sent to watch over the witch and make sure she did not be gifted use of her powers. She was being kept there in an effort to win over her father, which confused her as her father was merely a peasant. He had nothing Ultron could want. Vision said nothing as he did not understand it, either. In their time together, they fell in love and dreamed of running off when his father was looking the other way. Today, it seemed, was that day.

Naturally, neither Barton nor Pietro knew this and saw only a metal guard—albeit a brightly painted one. Unlike the cold silver and steel guards, Vision was in bold colors of red and green with a yellow cape tied around his throat.

“Aah!” Barton yelped.

“Brave,” Pietro said dryly.

“Vision!” Wanda cried happily.

Vision, of course, had a set of keys. He was able to unlock the dungeon door and unlatch her shackles. Wanda rubbed her pained shoulders and chafed wrists. Impatient, Barton put a hand on her arm.

“Make with the magic!” he said in a hurried tone. “We need to hurry.”

“Your father has the princess we love,” Pietro said and flicked his beak towards Wanda. “It is a long story, sister. We love the princess and love each other and she loves me and may love him.”

“A long story indeed.” Wanda massaged her hands and held them out. Taking in a deep breath, she shut her eyes and began murmuring to herself under her breath.

Pietro’s body stiffened and his wings actually stilled. For the first time, Barton saw the bird in clarity. He heard a popping sound in the air accompanied by a puff of smoke and the bird was gone. In its place was a beautiful boy with skin like pearls and hair like snow. The same piercing blue eyes now peered out of a face with a nose and lips—a human face. Barton could not help himself and rushed him. He kissed his face: his eyelids, his forehead, his cheeks and his nose. He avoided his mouth, allowing the princess to steal that one.

Throughout Barton’s excited embraces, Pietro stood stock still. His hands lightly touched his brow, his chest, his hips. As if he could not believe that he was himself again. That he could eat food that was not nectar. That he can hold those he loves tightly to him and love them—them. It was precisely at this moment—despite his dry, vocal proclamation moments earlier—that Pietro realized that he was not just in love with his princess but that he too shared Barton’s affections.

Wanda tried to embrace him, which was a fairly difficult feat considering Barton was still holding onto his shoulders tightly.

“We should leave.” Vision’s voice interrupted the awkward hug. “My father will notice us soon. He always notices.”

Pietro shook his head. “We have to save Crystal.”

“Yeah!” Barton chimed in. “Who knows what your father’s doin’ to her!”

Vision seemed to understand their urgency now that he himself knew love and led the group to the throne room. Like the rest of the citadel, it was made of cold stone and metal. Everything was dark and dreary as one such as Ultron cared not for light or warmth.

“We have to make sure she’s—” Barton’s words died in his throat upon entering the throne room.

Metal men were broken on the floor. There had to be at least a dozen in a heap on the cold, stone floor. Limbs and heads and torsos were strewn about the entire throne room. Near the throne itself, Ultron lay broken. It was the first time any of our heroes (save Vision) had seen him and, even twisted and broken at the foot of his stone throne, he was imposing. His metal face was forever stretched in a grimace and his eyes burned red and hateful.

“Why would King Richard commission that?” Barton asked quizzically.

Near his body stood the princess. Her hands were clenched in fists at her sides and her face was curled in a defiant expression.

“She needed saving?” Wanda asked, crinkling her brow.

“Princess!” Barton called.

At the sound of his voice, her expression changed to a smile and she rushed to the group. Crystal embraced Barton first and turned to the man next to him. Her face clouded over in confusion as she took in the elf-like boy with the bright white hair—until her eyes found his. She leapt from Barton and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her lips to his in a kiss.

The group of five left the citadel with its mangled ruler (as Crystal told it, he had a negative reaction to her winds) and later made camp at the foot of the mountain. Wanda and Vision slept near the fire made, curled in each other’s arms. His cape was draped over the both of them so only their heads were visible. On the other side of the fire, the three intrepid heroes sat.

“You are human again,” Crystal whispered. Her hand reached up to stroke the contours of Pietro’s face.

Barton reached out to do the same, wanting to say something sentimental about him being more beautiful than he had imagined but he did not.

“I love you,” Pietro said to her, moving his head so his cheek pressed against her palm.

“I love you, too.”

He turned his gaze to Barton, his pale blue eyes flickering with firelight. “I love you, too, pig boy.”

Barton leaned forward and brushed his lips against his temple. He then pushed himself further to kiss the princess on the cheek.

“I love you both,” he said with a small smile.

Before them, the fire crackled. Pietro reached an arm out to wrap around Barton’s middle and the archer put his head on his shoulder. Crystal seemed to get this—they all had to realize it sooner or later. That the three of them were full of love all for one another. That they could live happily ever after as the stories always say. She kissed Barton gently on the lips and he reached out with his other hand to clasp hers. They could live happily ever after. And they will.


End file.
